


Hellbound

by BlixaLooksCarsick



Category: Megami Tensei, Persona 5, Shin Megami Tensei, persona - Fandom
Genre: Artist struggle, Gen, Mundane
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-07
Updated: 2018-08-07
Packaged: 2019-06-23 05:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15599751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlixaLooksCarsick/pseuds/BlixaLooksCarsick
Summary: Inspiration can be a most fleeting, whimsical thing. Yusuke Kitagawa is soon to learn the merciless underside of it.





	Hellbound

“Kitagawa-kun…” 

No response.

“Kitagawa-kun?”

Pressure on the temples. The line curves flawed on the sketchbook. A blur in the eye will not pass this as an acceptable slight.

“Togo-san? What are you doing here?”

A dance of shadows in the surroundings. Such impromptu whirling dervish was a mockery creeping in from the corner of the eye. He refused to look up and see it, ridiculing him for botching that circle from which the composition was supposed to grow. The image was still fresh in his mind. He would need to start over, for the seventh time.

“Hey, Yusuke!” Negishi brazenly called out. 

Yusuke sighed, eyes still downcast.

“Would you have something of me?” 

“Huh?” Negishi looked confused. “No, someone came to see you, dummy! Look up!”

Though reluctant to deviate sight from the miscarriage to his next piece, the former Phantom Thief known as Fox knew he would not be given tranquil room for a new start unless he complied. His face was dark as a looming storm, and he did not bother to clear his expression as he looked up. Hifumi Togo was standing next to him, with a bulky package in her hands. He was not surprised about the visit from she whom many looked upon as a muse; rather he was surprised that a fellow Kosei High student would interrupt a student from another homeroom when he clearly was focused on his work. She really should know better, Yusuke thought in silence.

“Togo-san. Do you need something?” He spoke dryly. 

“Yusuke-kun.” Her voice was barely a note above a whisper. “I brought something for you. I saw it in the bookstore I frequent. I thought you may like it.” With a slight bow, she extended the package to him. Annoyed even by this reverence, she took the package with both hands, and asked no questions beforehand.

“Thank you, Togo-san.” He set the package inside his rucksack, where he knew it may go forgotten. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” Eyes back on his sketchbook, he flipped the page and started anew. One long, deep breath. Pencil in hand. Initial hesitation. He then carried on while the image was still fresh in his head. 

“Wow, rude fucker, isn’t he?” Negishi said out loud. Several other students expressed outrage and confusion. Yusuke devoted his concentration to the blank page too strongly to mind. He did not hear Hifumi’s steps as she exited the homeroom. He also did not see her expression as she went on. 

Another failure. Yusuke cursed himself and the world.

For hours after, Yusuke Kitagawa sat on the grass in the park. His pockets were full of mushrooms, as his head was of rueful thoughts. “Hope and Desire” had been the first work he felt emotional intimacy with since being freed from Ichiryusai Madarame’s yoke – a tyrant under the guise of benefactor. From that moment on, he continued to paint works that satisfied him. Even after his friend, leader and muse, Akira Kurusu, returned to his hometown, Yusuke continued to produce works he deemed worthwhile. 

But no longer. 

The spring had gone dry and dead. He found the image distasteful and vulgar from how his former mentor favoured it to describe his “creative genius”, secretly plagiarised from the pupils he took under his care. Too fitting, nevertheless. After some careful thought, Yusuke chose the image of a deep and ancient well. To climb down its walls was no docile task; it involved strenuous effort to descend soberly despite the ever-present danger of falling. And at the bottom, all he would find was a teardrop of a stone, glistening against the midday sun. It was but a memento of rich, fertile days gone by. Whatever meagre images he could conjure his hands could not adequately convey.

Come the evening, Yusuke sat despondent at the side of a vending machine in the students’ dorms. His stomach growled no longer, but the hollow he felt inside could be filled by no measure of crisps, salted, spiced or otherwise. A most baleful contemplation wormed through his thoughts: should he press his luck and ‘urge’ more edibles out of the vending machine when nobody is looking? It was with some mixture of good intentions and mischief that Akira taught him how to obtain goods from certain vending machines by using paper clips, rubber bands, and a slipper. Naturally, that was a secret between them, one Yusuke would keep sacredly hidden, especially from one Futaba Sakura. In that moment, he entertained the possibility that flirting with the forbidden and the transgressive could liberate his artistic psyche from its current drought. 

Or maybe, just maybe, he truly missed being a Phantom Thief. Regardless of the differences he saw among his rich palette of friends, on that he knew they could all agree to some extent. Through the eyes of the Fox mask, life brandished the colours of artful manipulation. There was more to everything than nature and the inertia of civilisation. Momentum and intention were lively bedfellows, united in their loathing for indifference. 

His train of thought continued unchecked. It was a delight he seldom experienced – the closest thing to inspiration. He burrowed further into the ley lines where the heart flirted with the logical. Deeper still, while the very walls of the dull dormitory hall absorbed the colours of dusk outside. Grey like blue mimicking the purple of the sky against the moon looking almost pink; a mellow approximation to red, a colour at the core of hope… and desire.

“THAT’S IT!” Yusuke shouted, enthralled by epiphany, springing tall from his seat on the floor. A student yelped startled as he came down the hall. 

Kenta was a modest, unassuming student at Kosei. He mostly kept to himself. As a consequence, he was barely noticed by his classmates or teachers outside of class. But if one thing could earn a place in everybody’s memory, it could well be the look of fear and puzzlement in his eyes; somehow they looked too large for his face. They were a perfect landing spot for Yusuke’s resolute gaze. 

“Good friend Tenta…” Yusuke grabbed his lean frame by the shoulders with a grip like iron. “You are witness to such glorious moment!” 

“M-my name is…”

“Yes, Shinta.” Yusuke sniffled, barely able to contain a tear. “It is time to celebrate. Would you care for a snack?”

“Ah… ah… ah… ah…”

“Come. It’s my treat.” Yusuke opted to use some of his savings, worn-light after purchasing supplies and materials. “What would you like, Kenji?”

“My name is… ah, a candy bar would be okay.” Astonished Kenta conceded, aware his words would only reach the peculiar Yusuke Kitagawa to a very small extent.

“So shall it be.” Yusuke pressed the corresponding key combination for the impromptu meal, and two bottles of water as way of libation. He smiled warmly, with the food items in his hands. “Now, Kenta… please accompany me in a toast.”

“Hey, you got my name right!” Kenta smiled despite himself.

“To a great undertaking!” Yusuke spoke in ceremony, barely having listened to Kenta at all. His chest was aflame with resolve. That moment was worth the staleness he had been enduring. Though honestly pleased that Kenta happened to be in the vicinity, Yusuke had no taboo about celebrating on his own. Even then, he would be perfectly willing to spend his own money, rather than stealing from the vending machine. Truly, there would be sufficient time for that in the near future.

For Yusuke decided he would steal back his inspiration.

It was said that the muses favoured those who waited in the midst of doing. Should they prove capricious, one may well search in the murky shadows where the muses care not to look. The following day, Yusuke returned to the source, where Hope and Desire first came to be: the Underworld.

Yusuke would often spend his Sundays down in the Shibuya subway, with nothing in his pockets but a small sketchbook, a pencil, and a handful of change. People watching, he called it. It was something he never used to do until he became a Phantom Thief. Only then, when undertaking the duty of stealing hearts, he learned to see the forces that pulsated beneath the mundane; impulses, emotions and convictions so powerful, yet they rarely found vigorous expression. Then, the Phantom Thieves discovered the dark underside of this urban setting: Mementos, where such forces were tangible and dangerous. In between fighting Shadows, and battling carsickness, Yusuke marvelled at the wild beauty unfolding before his eyes: hope and desire, tainted and awaiting atonement at their hands. 

He knew he could and should not hope to replicate the strength of Hope and Desire. Already he had once misguided himself into replicating the emotional charge behind his mother’s Sayuri. But he was no longer the same artist as back then. The shape he had planned for his next painting lived on in his thoughts as a phantasm. His eyes were open for whatever they were to find back in the Underworld. It started on a Sunday morning.

It ended a few minutes past noon, fruitlessly. 

Yusuke spent several minutes in the dorm’s restroom, eyes lost in the mirror, dwelling on the causes and consequences of the blow. Sometime between then and now, his patience seems to have abandoned him. Where he found comfortable stillness, he now encountered a compulsive need to shift his posture as he waited. His eyes could stay put on one single thing, yet now they wandered at the slightest perceived distraction. The cacophony of the commuters never disturbed him before, but now it gave him a headache. 

Conceding defeat was acceptable in Shogi and at the end of a troubled day. He would try again soon, however many times he needed to. Despite his sober perspective, his failure to recapture his inspiration left him clumsy and weary. Therefore, he could scarcely help himself when accidentally bumping into Negishi as he came into the bathroom. 

“Oi! Watch it, spaz! You stupid or what?” He called out with his usual booming volume.

“Sorry…” Yusuke replied as he came out of the bathroom.

“Damn, guy! Shit!” Negishi continued to complain, his voice fading gradually as Yusuke headed to the bedroom he was assigned.

Although he shared the room with three other young men, he found himself alone that afternoon. As it stood, there were few students in sight inside on a warm Sunday. With no kindred spirits in the pursuit of beauty around, he felt as if he were hopelessly planning a one-man job. After a couple of minutes sunken in silence, Yusuke replayed Negishi’s rude demeanour in his mind, and instantly thought of Futaba Sakura. They did not treat each other kindly, but were loyal friends nonetheless. Perhaps some verbal abuse from her could shake his mood from despondency, he thought.

What he saw on his cell phone’s screen startled him for a moment. 58 unread messages across the past week. Had he cloistered him inwards so deeply in the pursuit of a new painting? Slightly embarrassed, he browed through his text messages. The better part came from his closest friends. To his further shame, Akira messaged a few times to inquire if he was alright. A few lunch invitations from Ryuji and Ann; information on contests and events from Makoto; puzzling, disturbing memes from Futaba; and pictures of plants and small animals from Haru. With some reluctance, he went through the Phantom Thieves’ chat group and found he had been shining through his absence.

He spent the rest of the day in penance, replying to all the messages he had neglected to read, apologising at every turn and setting his friends’ minds to ease. It was nightfall when he finished, and his heart sat lighter in his chest than hours before. But the crux of his torment remained, as he could confirm by his attempt at drawing something, anything on his faithful sketchbook. He could well compromise and paint a landscape or a portrait, but it would be mute to his heart. 

A second epiphany found him then. He had first intended to brave the underworld on his own in search of inspiration, but he needn’t go anywhere, for he already was neck-deep in its dark bowels, with no light to be found. Furthermore, he had cast himself into the abyss without knowing it, far from the light of his friends. 

The alternative was unappealing, but further idleness was something he could not bear. The next day he would meet Ann and Makoto for dinner. The day after, he would take up Ryuji’s offer for a gym session. And the day after, he would meet Futaba and Haru at LeBlanc. Mending the state of his friendships took priority. Should inspiration bless him again, he would have it freed from the clutches of melancholy. In the meantime, he would content himself with painting landscapes and portraits. It was a sensible course of action, one which still left a sour taste in his mouth. 

The following days ensued as he had anticipated, for the most part. He could hardly figure out what Ann and Makoto were talking about over dinner, but he enjoyed himself. Ryuji was loud as ever, especially during exercise; although his lower back and legs were stiff and aching at the end, Yusuke also enjoyed himself. Throughout those two days, the hours before the canvas had yielded the picture of a robin sitting on a branch. Not an unpleasant picture; bland, but acceptable. On Wednesday, he was to meet Futaba and Haru at LeBlanc. But upon entering the café, he found only Haru sitting at a booth. An uneasy feeling came over him, and the thought of a hot cup of strong, black coffee could not entirely put him at ease.

“Good day, Boss-san.” Yusuke greeted Sojiro Sakura with his usual discreet manner.

“Hey, kid. Have a seat. Your friend’s waiting for you.” Sojiro looked rather lonesome without Akira behind the counter. 

“Thank you, Boss-san.”

“It’s just Boss. Same old?”

“If you would.”

“Coming right up.” Boss was unusually curt. The man’s warmth was quite a sight, and rare as such. The Phantom Thieves had earned his trust and kindness, but today it was as if those graces had greyed out.

Yusuke approached Haru with unfamiliar dread. His keen eye had caught only a hint of it from the distance. Up close, something was clearly different about the one called Noir. Her beauty and elegance were touched by a look of stress. Her eyes and half smile betrayed lack of sleep. Lately it seemed that several of his friends had troubled nights. He disguised his shock as best he could.

“Hello, Haru.” Yusuke greeted warmly. “It’s good to see you.”

“Yusuke-kun.” Haru herself disguised her mood, but she could not hide the exhaustion from her voice. “Thank you for meeting me here.”

“It’s always my pleasure.”

“Have you been well, Yusuke-kun?” She asked him.

“Yes, thank you.”

“Are you sure? We didn’t hear from you for a bit.” 

“It was nothing important.” He attempted to dodge the subject with subtlety. “But Haru, are things well with you?”

“Oh, yes…” Eyes and voice trailed off to the side. “College is a little taxing sometimes…“ A sudden look of alarm. “Do I look bad, Yusuke-kun?”

“Somewhat, yes.” He often did not realise the effect of his candour, though it never was foul-meant.

“Oh.” She uttered sadly. Yusuke caught notice of her response. A combination of shame and empathy drove him to speak.

“I’ve been struggling with my art. Nothing I’ve done lately feels… significant. I’m feeling alienated from my passions, and I’ve become obsessed with regaining that light.” Yusuke paused, looking at Haru’s weary face. “You can feel secure to tell me what ails you.”

Haru blinked, surprised. 

“You can also say nothing if you don’t feel comfortable.” Yusuke reassured her. In truth, he wished to hear what she had to say.

“Um, I…”

“Sorry to disturb,” Sojiro stood by the booth. “This is for you.” He set a hot cup of Mexican Altura, dark and nutty to the palate. “And for you, Miss. Do take it easy.” Boss had a cup of Guatemalan SHB for her. His usual gruff kindness gleamed back for a moment. “Carry on.” 

“Thank you, Boss.” Both thanked in unison. 

The first sip was rarely kind. Yusuke was rather fond of burning his tongue on the black brew; everything after was bliss. Haru preferred to let it cool first. 

“He said to take it easy.” Yusuke observed. “May I ask why?”

“This… this is my third cup today.” Haru blushed.

Had Yusuke sipped a second earlier, he would have choked and sprayed coffee on her friend’s face. 

“The last, I’d hope. Good coffee is not something you’d want to spoil by drinking it compulsively.”

“You do understand…” Haru smiled. She started to resemble her usual self. “Did I ever tell you what I want to do with my life?”

“I remember you saying you wanted a café of your own.” 

“Indeed. To succeed in that, I must prepare to do many things outside of my comfort zone. I need to study things that I never thought I’d have to. I got ready and studied so hard to make it to college, and now…”

Yusuke did not interrupt her, opting instead to wait in patient silence.

“… I feel out of my depth.” Haru looked down. “I’m feeling like an idiot, naïve child.” She reproached herself. “Did I make the wrong choice? Yusuke-kun, I…”

“Impossible.” He said firmly. 

“Yusuke…?” 

“You made a choice with conviction of what you desired. You believed. Even if you did not consider the obstacles in the middle, there is no nobler, more worthy choice.” He declared doubtless. “Whatever it is you struggle with, you have the passion and capabilities to overcome it. If you falter, you will have us. Of this, there is no doubt in my mind. I am utterly ignorant about business and economics. But you will have my best disposition, regardless.”

“You make it sound so easy, Yusuke…” She smiled bashfully.

“Is it not?” 

“That is the question.” Haru took her first sip. Like a needle of light piercing through the fog, her graceful demeanour came back into sight despite her exhaustion. 

Yusuke squinted, sharpening his gaze to observe the whole of the composition. The smallest details were of utmost importance: the very posture of her hand and the position of her fingers, the curls of her hair and the way they grazed the woolly surface of her sweater, and above all, the quiet serenity that settled over her expression. He was instantly reminded of a robin, unassumingly perched on a single branch. 

“Thank you, Yusuke-kun. I’m glad you met me here today.” 

He nodded in polite acknowledgement. A quick thought crossed his mind at that moment. 

“I thought Futaba was supposed to meet us here today.”

“Oh, about that…” Haru grinned amused. “I think she’s been spending time with a friend.” She could not help but stealing a look at Sojiro, leaning restless on the counter.

“I don’t understand.” Yusuke was legitimately confused.

“A boy.” She made a hushed giggle.

Yusuke arched an eyebrow in confusion. The spell lasted for several seconds. Then it hit him, and he could not help but laugh out loud. He would never dream of experience joy at the expense of someone else, especially Boss. Nonetheless, it still felt as if a huge piece of a puzzle had landed square and heavy on his lap, like a brick. 

“I don’t think it’s anything serious. Months ago, she barely spent time with anyone but us. I understand she had a hard time coming out of her shell. Was that so, Yusuke-kun?”

“Yes.” He chuckled to himself at recalling those days. “This is a good thing.”

“I agree. I hope Sakura-san sees it that way in time.” The tension was gone from her voice. The relief was like letting go of a hefty burden, like a brick. “You said you had been working on some things. Can I see?”

“I do not feel very strongly about my latest painting. I did not take a picture of it, but I believe I have some sketches, somewhere in…” He lifted his rucksack and placed it on the table. He struggled to do so. It rarely weighed anything most of the time. Now, it was heavy – as if he was carrying something heavy around, like a brick. “Hmm?”

“Is there something wrong, Yusuke-kun?”

“I have forgotten…” His trailed off. “A fellow student at Kosei gave me this.” He pulled out the book Hifumi gave him days ago. 

The Chiaroscuro Paradigm. A commentary on Turner, Blake and Carvaggio

Haru read the title of the book while Yusuke stared at it.

“Sounds interesting. May I have a look?” 

“S-sure.” Yusuke said as his companion lifted the book with both hands. She picked a page at random and read for several seconds. She skimmed through a few pages, appearing to look at pictures of the aforementioned painters’ work.

“Um, I don’t think I can understand this like it’s meant to. But I like the paintings!” She huffed as she passed the book to Yusuke. “I’m sure you will squeeze all the juice from it, though.“ She smiled.

“Yes…” Yusuke went through the pages for the first time. It was an old book, read over several times by the state of its spine. The yellow, brittle pages spoke at length of its lifespan since printing. He took no care to read the author’s thesis; instead, something else caught his attention. Nearly all pages boasted several notes, nearly on all blank spaces the previous owner could find; some written on pencil, others on pens of several colours. However, he could not read the notes, as they were written in a language he was unfamiliar with. “Russian?” 

“So that’s what it is! How fascinating!” 

“Yes, indeed. This book was thoroughly read. The previous owner must have had strong opinions. I suspect these notes would be as engaging as the book’s contents itself. I can only dare a guess. The work of these painters, their technique on the contrasts between light and dark… it’s…” He paused. “It’s…”

Haru raised her eyebrows in a quizzical look.

“It’s just what I needed to see.” One final epiphany brought his voice to a breathless whisper. He needed not steal anything. He needed not wallow in despair. His salvation had been delivered already though he was blind to it. “Never mind.” He smiled. “I will show you soon.”

They talked about other matters for the rest of the afternoon. On the subject of the notes, Boss approached Yusuke and told him he could help him out translating, albeit a few at a time. Both youths were visibly impressed that Boss knew Russian; Haru entertained the possibility that he may have been a spy at some point, given the many talents of Sojiro Sakura. On his part, Yusuke was grateful that Futaba was not around to exploit the topic, or to entertain the idea of becoming a spy herself. The evening ended on a peaceful note for all. Sojiro’s relief when his daughter arrived was extraordinarily visible on his face. Haru was considerably reinvigorated, and ready to steel herself for the demands of her career choice. 

As for Yusuke, he virtually salivated about the prospect of taking a brush in his hand and starting on something new, something very clear and definitive. He looked on his robin with more kindness than he would have thought. None of it was a waste. Without realising it before, Yusuke had already made an incursion into the technique and theory of the Chiaroscuro, hailing back to Hope and Desire. Duality can frame a definition more extensively than one thing by itself. Opposition. Conflict. Harmony. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis.

Yusuke, Haru and Sojiro were all in a Hell of their own, imagined, self-imposed, or otherwise. But their damnation can never be so if not for the prospect of success, peace and happiness; these in turn cannot be striven for if not for the fear of failure. Then, if will proves sufficient and strong, Hell can be overcome. It is a troublesome reality to the human experience, one which exists in the extremes between sorrow and joy, and all the spaces within. 

And Yusuke could hardly wait to portray it. He had already decided on a name: The Robin’s Courage.

**Author's Note:**

> Another character-centred story for the P5 guys. 
> 
> Now, pardon me while I sit in this corner, weeping about P2 not being featured in PQ2.


End file.
